Comrades
by GlitterDemon
Summary: Gren is fighting in the Titan war under the command of the mysterious Vicious.Will his admiration be able to withstand the ultimate betrayal?
1. the War for Titan

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Cowboy Bebop. If this story is too similar to anything else that has been previously posted on this site, let me know, and I will remove it. This is my first time publishing a story here, so be gentle!  
  
Chapter One: the War for Titan  
  
Picture a barren desert landscape, stretching as far as the eye can see. The light of the sun is dim, due both to distance and the constant sandstorms that ravage the land. The only living things here are the men scattered like ants over the dunes.  
  
This is Titan. In 2059 the inhabitants of Ganymede sent their top scientists and researchers here in the hopes of colonizing this wasteland. Small laboratories sprang up like oases, and attempts at growing plant life began. All of them failed. There simply wasn't enough water on Titan to support such life.  
  
The Lunar Colonization and Development Corporation on Mars offered to help supply Titan with the water it so desperately needed, and the government of Ganymede accepted. In 2060 they took over the project. Arguments soon arose as to who owned the rights to the land. Arguments which soon escalated into larger conflicts. The war for Titan had begun.  
* * * * * * 


	2. Brothers in Arms

Brothers in Arms  
  
Just behind a large sand dune, the 25th division of Infantry Company C had made camp for the night. Flimsy canvas tents struggled to stay upright in the strong wind. The sentry on duty struggled to stay awake during his watch, staring into the dancing fire. Just as his eyes were beginning to close, something sped past his ear. Startled, the young man looked over his shoulder to see a large bowie knife embedded in the rock behind him.  
  
"Gren. Don't fall asleep." Said a cool voice from the shadows. The boy, still shocked, looked up to see a man standing on the other side of the flames.  
  
"Oh, Vicious, it's you!" Gren said, smiling in recognition as the other man sat down. "For a minute, I thought you were trying to kill me!" He added nervously, hoping his assumption was wrong.  
  
"Look closer." Vicious replied, pointing over Gren's shoulder. Gren complied, glancing back at the knife. This time, he saw what he had missed; the giant sand scorpion pinned under the blade. Gren looked back at Vicious, his eyes wide and his smile gone.  
  
"Those are about the only living things on this planet besides us." Vicious said, his voice indifferent. Standing up, he reached past Gren and pulled the knife from the stone. The scorpion was still impaled upon it, and Vicious held it up as he spoke. "But if you aren't careful, they'll make sure they are the only things left alive." Having said this, he walked off into the darkness, leaving Gren alone once more.  
  
When Vicious had arrived on Titan as their leader, every man had been skeptical about his abilities. Instead of the standard issue gun or shoulder-mounted laser cannon, Vicious fought with only a sword. In the year 2060, a katana was certainly an out of date weapon. Yet Vicious wielded it with such speed and skill in battle, that he usually killed more enemy soldiers than his gun armed allies.  
  
He is truly a remarkable man, Gren thought as he was relieved of his post and sent to his bedroll. 


	3. Desert Sands

Desert Sands  
  
The following dawn saw the tents packed away, and the Ganymede forces on the march again. It was hard to gain footing on the shifting dunes, and even covered as they were with burnooses and scarves over their mouths and noses, the sand seemed to penetrate everywhere. The sun was far away, and so the climate was always cool, yet the harsh light seemed to beat down upon them relentlessly.  
  
Gren marched alongside the others, tired and thirsty. His own canteen had sprung a leak, and been empty for hours, and it would be another day or so  
before they would be given another ration of the precious, life-giving  
water that was so scarce.  
  
"Hey, can I have a drink?" He reluctantly asked the man next to him. The soldier looked even more reluctant to assent, but passed Gren his canteen  
anyway.  
  
"Alright, but just a sip! I can't give you all my water just 'cause you lost yours." Gren nodded in understanding, and put the bottle to his lips.  
  
"Gren!"  
  
The young man paused at the harsh voice, and turned to see Vicious glaring  
at him, along with the rest of the men.  
  
"Give that soldier his canteen back." Vicious demanded calmly. Hiding his disappointment that he hadn't even gotten a drop, Gren complied. As the army started marching again, Vicious tossed him the ornate canteen hanging  
from his belt.  
  
"Drink mine instead." He said brusquely. Gren drank the sweet, cool water  
quickly and gratefully, throwing it back to Vicious with a broad grin.  
  
"Thank you sir. I guess comrades have to look out for each other, huh?" For a second, gren thought he saw the corner of Vicious' mouth turn up in a faint, wry smile. Then his commander turned and continued walking without  
another word. 


	4. Memories

Memories  
  
It seemed to take ages to reach the next outpost, though in actuality it only took a few hours. But, as Gren saw it, without any water to quench his deep thirst, it might as well be an eternity.  
  
The men spread out to set up camp, Gren immediately heading toward the large water tower in the center. An entire company of men had been stationed here permanently, their only task to guard Ganymede's water stores with their life. It was the only cistern around for miles, a man- made oasis in the middle of the wasteland.  
  
Approaching their commander, Gren sheepishly held up his empty canteen. The man's face remained impassive for a moment, then one corner of his mouth turned up in amusement.  
  
"Leak, eh?" He said, his voice deep and gruff, but containing a warmth that set Gren at ease. "Yeah, you aren't the first one I've dealt with." He motioned Gren over to a small, wooden shack that looked on the verge of collapse. With the frequent sandstorms and powerful winds, it probably was. The young soldier was brought inside, where he saw piles of extra equipment piled on the ground and stacked on shelves.  
  
"All right lad, here ya go." Said the older man, handing Gren a new canteen.  
  
"Thanks," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. He felt like such a rookie. The commander gave him an understanding smile, clapping him on the back as he went back outside.  
  
"No problem, just take better care of your equipment." Said the man, heading back to his post. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
I know you worry about me, but I know serving here is exactly what I need. Don't worry about me, I have a great leader, with a lot of experience. His name is Vicious, but don't let that scare you. He's been looking after your 'wayward son.' Give my love to Ian and Bethany. I'll come home, I promise.  
  
Love,  
  
Grencia Mars Elijah Gon Eckener  
  
Gren winced as he read his insanely long name, scratching it out with a sigh. His parents, successful traders on Ganymede, were outrageously rich, and had felt the need to give their children outrageous names to show it. Looking back over his letter, he signed it again  
  
Love,  
  
Gren  
  
Satisfied, he slipped it into an envelope and sealed it. As technologically advanced as the world might be, Titan was still uninhabited, and mail between soldiers and their families was limited to the ancient form of letters. Most people didn't even know how to write a formal letter anymore, but Gren's wealthy background had insured him a well- rounded education.  
  
Gren stepped out of his tent, walking over to the outposts mailbox and dropping his letter in with another sigh. He then headed toward a small empty fire that had been built in one of the outposts trenches. There was no one sitting near it that he could see, so he decided to take a moment to warm himself.  
  
He leaned back against the side of the trench, leaning his head back and looking up into the dark sky. His family had never been very close, his father was always away on business, keeping the family empire alive. His mother was home a lot, but usually entertaining friends, and had little time for him.  
  
His brother and sister were the only family members he really cared about. His brother, Ian, was a year older than he, so they had always been very close. More like friends than siblings really. They had spent much of their youth running rampant around their family's large estate, causing as much mischief and tormenting their governess as much as possible.  
  
His sister Bethany, or Bethy as they had called her, was several years younger, and looked up to Gren and Ian immensely. They, in turn, had taken it upon themselves to take care of her, letting her tag along with them on their boyhood adventures in order to watch over her.  
  
When news had come of the war on Titan, Gren had just been celebrating his 20th birthday. He was old enough to go start his own life, though he had pretty much had his own life from the beginning. Almost on impulse, he made the decision to enlist in Ganymede's Armed Forces.  
  
His brother had applauded him, but declined to go himself. He was heir to the family fortune, and had been taken under their father's wing, being instructed in the ways of business. His sister, and more surprisingly, his mother, had begged him not to leave.  
  
"I'll write you mother, don't worry, I'll be fine." He had said before picking up his bag and walking out the door. 


	5. Goodnight Julia

Goodnight Julia  
  
Things were beginning to wind down around camp as the men prepared for a brief night of rest. Gren still sat by the small fire, stretched out with his hands behind his head and watching the troops through the hazy smoke of his cigarette. He blew out a puff of smoke and examined the cig wryly, wondering what his mother would say if she saw him like this.  
  
Gren closed his eyes, and was just about to doze off when a sweet, strange song penetrated the air. Sitting up slightly, he looked around for the source, and to his surprise, saw Vicious seated a few feet away. Moving closer, he saw the man staring at a small music box that rested in the palm of his hand. The tune was beautiful, and it struck Gren as odd that his commander could just sit there, listening to it as if unmoved. But why would he carry such a thing with him, unless it meant something?  
  
"What's that song?" Gren asked softly, hesitantly taking a seat next to the solemn man. At first, it seemed as if Vicious wasn't going to answer, but at last he broke the silence.  
  
"Julia," he answered, his gravelly voice emotionless as always. Was it Gren's imagination, or was there a brief flash of sadness in the man's steel gray eyes? He quickly brushed it off as nothing. The two sat there in comfortable, if not necessarily amiable silence, Gren letting the soft notes of the music wash over him.  
  
"Nice melody," he said casually after a while. He looked over to see Vicious watching him out of the corner of his eye, and continued. "You mind if I play it on my sax when I get back home?"  
  
Vicious looked at Gren with an almost surprised expression, and for a minute, the two men stared at each other in stony silence. Gren supposed that perhaps Vicious was thrown off by such a request, or by the fact that Gren knew how to play a saxophone. He wasn't very proficient at it, but there had been a few years during his childhood when his mother had taken a sudden interest in his upbringing, and insisted on music lessons.  
  
But as taken aback as Vicious may have been, he didn't show it, and so gren was the surprised one when Vicious simply placed the music box in his hand, and stood up without another word. Gren watched him go, when suddenly the man whirled around, grabbing Gren's forehead and holding it in place as he drove his knife into the rock face only centimeters from his ear. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu came over Gren as Vicious removed his knife, and Gren glanced over to see a large scorpion, neatly severed down the middle.  
  
When Vicious had sheathed his blade, picked up his rifle and walked off, still silent, Gren finally let out the breath he had been holding in. he felt something digging into his palm where he had clenched his fist, and opened it to find the music box. Holding it up, he wound it and let it play, the sad, lilting tune making him wonder who it had been named after. Was it someone from Vicious' past? Or just a song he happened to like? Either way, the idea of his stoic commander carrying around a music box seemed a little strange. And why had Vicious just given it to him, without another thought? The barrage of questions swirled around in Gren's mind, making his head hurt and reminding him he needed some sleep.  
  
::Goodnight, Julia, whoever you are.:: He thought as he let the sweet notes of the music carry him to sleep. 


	6. the Beginning of the Nightmare

The Beginning of the Nightmare  
  
Gren awoke to the eerie sound of silence. It was a rare thing  
in a military encampment, and he sat up with a start, wondering if  
he'd been left behind. Climbing out of the small trench, he brushed  
some of the sand and dust off his uniform, and looked around.  
  
A chill wind blew around the camp, stirring the tattered remains  
of a Ganymede flag. But nothing else was moving. He could see the  
other men sleeping in scattered tents, sand blowing over them without  
their noticing. Glancing over at the water tower, Gren saw that even  
the guards of the precious water supply were sleeping. All around  
him, they sat slumped against rocks, their heads resting limply on  
their chests.  
  
"Hey, Biggs," Gren said cheerfully, spying someone he  
recognized. The man didn't respond, and Gren knelt down in front of  
him. "Biggs, wake up." He gently shook the man's shoulders, the  
realization hitting him like the jolt out of hyperspace. Biggs wasn't  
sleeping. Biggs was dead. Gren rose slowly to his feet. He knew he  
was on the verge of something terrible. It was as if an invisible  
sandstorm were racing toward him, and he couldn't stop it. He  
couldn't even see it coming. All he could do was watch as his entire  
world blew away around him.  
  
Dead. They were all dead. Gren sat down again, cradling his  
head in his hands, trying to fight back the overwhelming fear that  
maybe he was the only living, breathing thing left on this entire  
planet. What on earth had happened? How could they all be . . .dead?  
Not a word, or a scream, no evidence that anything had happened at  
all. It was as if something had merely swooped down upon them,  
silently sucking the life out of them all. So then why had it missed  
him?  
  
Gren's throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry as the desert  
around him. He fumbled for his canteen, glad he had remembered to  
refill it.  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Gren paused, the mouth of  
the canteen halfway to his lips, and looked over to see Vicious  
standing a few feet away. He had abandoned his uniform in favor of  
strange, black garb, his sword still at his side. Gren immediately  
dropped his canteen, thanking the stars that at least he wasn't alone.  
  
"Vicious! I'm so glad you're here! Where did you go? What. .  
. what on Earth happened here? Vicious, everyone's dead!"  
  
"I know," Vicious replied, his voice low and calm. "I'm the one  
who killed them all."  
  
This was not at all the answer Gren had been expecting. What  
did Vicious mean? He wasn't telling the truth, was he? And why was  
he dressed so strangely? All those black clothes, and that long  
trenchcoat, what was he thinking?  
  
"Vicious. . .that's not funny." Gren said, laughing nervously  
all the same. His laughter faded at the cold look in Vicious' eyes.  
"But. . .how? Why?"  
  
"Oh, there must have been something in the water. . ." Vicious  
replied casually. Gren's eyes widened in shock. He had poisoned the  
drinking water? Their one source of survival on this godforsaken  
place, and he had defiled it. He had used it to kill his fellow  
soldiers, the men who followed him loyally, who fought beside him.  
  
"They were your comrades. . ." he said, at a loss for words.  
  
"I don't need comrades."  
  
"Then why did you leave me alive!" Gren shouted, fighting back  
the tears that had sprung into his eyes.  
  
"Simple. I need a scapegoat." The wicked smile on Vicious'  
face, coupled with his words, struck a blow to Gren that went straight  
through his heart.  
  
"At least tell me why. Why did you do this?" He asked  
brokenly, choking the words out through his tears.  
  
"I was sent as a spy for the Syndicate on Mars."  
  
"The Syndicate?" Gren repeated, stunned. "What do they have to  
do with the war?"  
  
"They are the ones behind it. The Lunar Colonization and  
Development Corporation is nothing but a front for the Syndicate. I  
was simply sent here to protect the Syndicate's investments."  
  
"No, it's not true!" Gren screamed, falling to his knees. This  
wasn't happening, it couldn't be. How had things changed from normal,  
to chaotic in just a night? These men, men he had talked to, shared  
stories with, they were dead. And the man he had admired most was the  
one behind it all. He was the cause of their deaths.  
  
"Think whatever you wish. But I wouldn't stay here long if I  
were you. The military police will be by very shortly, to capture the  
spy." The second realization came like a wave of cold water, and it  
threatened to pull Gren under. Vicious was gone, but his words echoed  
in Gren's mind.  
  
:: "Simple, I need a scapegoat.":: And that was him. Vicious  
had somehow made sure this would all be tied to Gren. After all, with  
the entire camp dead, the commander missing, all signs would point to  
the one man left standing. Gren knew what had to be done. He had to  
escape somehow. He had to get off Titan.  
  
He had to get back home. 


	7. Road to Nowhere

--Road to Nowhere--  
  
The trek was endless. Gren paused at the top of a dune, turning back to see the long, winding trail of his footsteps already being erased by the wind. As if he had never been there at all.  
  
It had been almost two days since he had fled the outpost, and in all that time, he had not seen a single living creature, a faint trace of life. As the wind carried his footprints away, the sand swirling in the air in airy, whirling patterns, he began to wonder if he really existed. Could anything really live in this barren wasteland?  
  
Pulling his burnoose tighter around his face to keep out the dust, Gren hefted his bag and continued the long, slow journey. He had no idea where he was going. The empty desert and the equally empty sky seemed to stretch before him into eternity.  
  
He found his thoughts turning to Vicious. Where had the former commander gone? What plan did he have for escape? Why had he done such a horrible thing? Why had Gren trusted him? Why? Why. . .  
  
His mind ran in circles, and he found no answer to his questions but the desolate howl of the wind. It seemed to call to him, crying out a mournful eulogy. For he was as good as dead. That thought didn't trouble him much however, he would only be joining the rest of his comrades.  
  
Gren found it hard to gain footing in the shifting sand, and stumbled. He got to his feet, slipped, fell again. Getting up seemed pointless. The whole bloody war was just that. . .pointless. His fellow soldiers, men he knew and respected, were dead. All dead, and for what? A small, fruitless satellite that could barely support what little life it had. The sands of Titan were stained with the blood of men, and for little more than some vile scheme of the Red Dragons.  
  
There was no escape. Gren stared up at the sky, following it as it faded from dull gray into inky blackness. Gren closed his eyes, and gave himself over to unconsciousness. The sky. . .it was endless. . . 


	8. A Flicker of Hope

A Flicker of Hope

Gren opened his eyes. The hazy blackness seemed to swirl around him for a moment, then the sky slowly came into focus. He sat up and licked his parched lips, but his mouth was as dry as the desert around him.  
  
Night had fallen as he slept, the dreamless sleep of exhaustion leaving him refreshed. Or, at least, his strength felt renewed. His mind was a different story.  
  
A light flickered in the distance, a tiny pinprick in the dark. Gren took it for one of the giant Glow-bugs that lived on Titan. They could be as big as a man's hand, and on a clear night their phosphorescent glow lit up the sky like lightning. His thoughts began to wander to his military training, and as another tiny light illuminated the horizon, he leapt to his feet, a grin on his face.  
  
Water. The Glow-bugs lived by sensing out oases and nesting near them...Gren broke into a run and sped off across the dunes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
His calves were burning from the exertion of pulling himself up the shifting hills of sand, and his skin stung and itched from sliding back down on his back, often tumbling blindly head over heels, but the flashing lights were getting closer.  
  
As Gren approached, he heard a faint buzzing in his ears. At first he took it for the sound of the insects, but as his ears adjusted to the noise after so many days of silence, he realized that it was not the Glow-bugs. It was voices.  
  
Peering cautiously over the top of the dune, he was startled to find that the lights he had followed were not bugs at all, but oil lamps carried by the troops who had set up camp near a small pool of cloudy water. He was inching closer to squint at their uniforms when he felt the cold press of metal against the back of his head.  
  
"Get up," a gruff voice commanded. Gren complied, pushing himself shakily to his feet and keeping his hands where the soldier could see them. He turned to face the barrel of a rifle, and beyond it, a cold, gleaming pair of eyes.


End file.
